Please
by GKingOfFez
Summary: After Cas leaves, Dean and Bobby are left to clean up his messes. The scene that should have been from 6x22 'The Man Who Knew Too Much'.


_Finally figured out how to post from my own computer. (Internet Explorer, desperate times and all that.)_

_Now to get back to the English short story I have due tomorrow (you think it'd be easy, when actually it's just annoying me)_

_..._

_"When all this is over, I promise you, I will save Sam."_

…

Dean had barely a second to react; in one blink of an eye, Castiel had disappeared from in front of them in his usual flutter of imperceptible wings, leaving Dean to question the air that the angel had vacated. It was in the next blink that he turned, just in time to see a trench-coated hand reach out to tap the side of his little brother's temple. He had a millisecond spare to choke out a uselessly defiant, "No!" before all 6 feet of Sam crumbled like a rag doll, Dean leaping forward just in time to yank at his shirt and limp body from the air and lower it down gently, so the sasquatch's journey to ground was more controlled and less bruise-inducing.

It was a hollow victory.

"Sam!" he called out, once his brother was safely laid out on the concrete, and he was crouched down beside him with his right hand hand hovering an inch over Sam's mouth and his left hand pressed into the pulse point on his neck. The heartbeat was slow, but steady against his fingertips while the ghost of a breath tickled his other hand. A harsh gasp of relief whistled out between Dean's teeth, but it was soon replaced by worry. Sam's eyes were wide open, staring unseeingly up into Dean's.

"Sam, wake up!" he called out leaning right down into Sam's personal space (an action that would have otherwise have gotten him punched in the face had the younger hunter been conscious), but Sam was so limp and deeply out of it, Dean was fairly sure his command had gone unheard. He was vaguely aware of Bobby, concern etched in the lines of his face, crouching down beside him.

"Dean…" Bobby sighed, the older hunter grunted, resting a weathered and supporting hand on Dean's arm, "Dean, I don't think he's gonna wake up, at least any time soon."

"No, you're wrong. Sam! Damnit, Sammy, snap out it," he said roughly, trying to keep the pleading edge out of his voice as he lightly slapped his baby brother's face. It simply lolled in the other direction, girly hair flipping with it, eyes still wide and empty. It reminded Dean too much of that decrepit old house just months earlier when he'd turned to find Sam convulsing on the ground, and then stop, limp. He had a feeling that it was gonna take more than a couple of minutes for Sam to come back this time.

"Dean," Bobby said, stronger this time, "We need to get him out of here, boy, and quick." The older hunter sent a quick, mournful look at the bloody corpse of the creature that had once been Ellie Visyak. "'Gotta get him somewhere safe, we're too exposed here."

Dean's instinct's told him Bobby was right, so after a few seconds of contemplation, he nodded in assent, then stooped down and snaked his arms under Sam's arm pits. Bobby followed suit by grabbing the sasquatch's legs. On a count of three, they lifted and between them managed to get Sam' lifeless body in the air with a higher amount of difficulty than Dean had expected; Sam's year-and-a-half long stint as a soulless dick had left him almost entirely made of muscle. With much grunting, they manoeuvred their way back to the Impala, thankfully parked in an alley out of sight from the main street, where Sam was pushed somewhat haphazardly into the back.

After a few seconds of scrutiny, Bobby leaned down and placed his hand over Sam's face, sliding his fingers down over the eyelids so Sam's lifeless eyes no longer stared blankly up at Dean. The gesture seemed far too final for Dean's liking, and he swallowed down around the lump that had formed in his throat. The entire situation was reminding Dean too much of Cold Oak all those years ago, from Bobby's participation to how still Sam was lying on the seat. The only thing absent was the blood leaking out of Sam's back and onto the leather seat. Even so, it was still too much for him.

"I'll be back in a minute," Bobby said, after a long, heavy pause in which they both stared solemnly at Sam through the side windows, "We can't leave Ellie's body in the open like that. I'll go hide it so we can come back later, give her a proper send off, you know?"

Dean did know, but he was also sure that Bobby was using it as an excuse to give Dean a moment to himself. He grunted, and Bobby left. As soon as he was sure the older hunter was out of earshot, though he spun around and kicked one of the metal trashcans interspersed along the alley's wall with all his might, scattering its rotting contents along the dirty concrete.

"What have you done, you bastard?!" he yelled out to the alley and the sky directly above it, "Cas, what the hell did you do to him? Come back here, you winged asshole! I know you can hear me! Come back and fix him!" He kicked the can again, and screamed out in frustration.

There was no answer, not that he'd been expecting one. The anger which pulsed through him soon began to ebb itself away, and he felt tears rolling down his face. He limped back over to the Impala and slumped himself in the driver's seat, wiping impatiently at the tears as though they were a dirty nuisance and not a natural process. The rear view mirror was quickly angled so that he had a clear view of Sam without having to turn around. One of his little brother's arms was resting loosely on his plaid-covered chest.

"Please," Dean said quietly, voice his eyes fixed on the mirror, his voice breaking and his lips trembling in the reflection. "Please, Cas. I can't lose him too. Not again. Not again…"

Bobby returned ten minutes later, and by then any evidence of Dean's tears had been erased and replaced with a hard look. Neither of them spoke the entire drive back to the house.


End file.
